Girl's tragic death affects an entire community

Published: Saturday, July 20, 2013 at 12:30 a.m.

Last Modified: Friday, July 19, 2013 at 2:52 p.m.

Almost everyone feels a sense of empathy when a tragedy strikes. That's an underlying trait that distinguishes humans from all other living things.

Yet some tragedies simply strike home more than others, even to those not personally connected to the people involved. That was certainly the case with the death this week of 11-year-old Lauren Cecil. Her death received attention not only locally but around the nation and even in other countries.

Lauren was finishing swimming practice at Brookside Swim Club on Tuesday night when a power line along Queens Road fell. It caused the ground saturated from rainfall to conduct the electricity to metal pipes, which in turn energized the pool water. Two other swimmers escaped the pool by jumping out along the edges, but Lauren was electrocuted when she touched the metal ladder.

When one thinks of electricity and water, it usually concerns lightning. Anyone who regularly visits a pool has been forced out of the water when thunder is heard. "Thirty more minutes" comes the shout when another clap resonates. But the accident with Lauren is almost unfathomable.

No journalist likes writing about the untimely death of someone, yet it's an unfortunate aspect of our profession. But when a child dies, that's even more difficult, especially when it involves such a freak accident as that which took Lauren's life. And at a small-town newspaper, sometimes the connections are more personal.

While I didn't personally know Lauren or her parents, my family belongs to Brookside pool. I know the other two girls who were in the pool; one is a good friend of my younger son. I know the lifeguards who valiantly attempted to save Lauren. I know those associated with the pool who were quoted in our stories and appeared on television newscasts.

Lauren attended Davis-Townsend Elementary School, the same as my sons. She swam on the team at Brookside. Although my sons didn't participate this year, due to being away for portions of the summer, they have in the past. They, too, have attended plenty of the evening practices.

Word spread quickly Tuesday night that an accident had occurred at the pool. Phone calls, texts and social media posts began quickly. And the sad news of Lauren's death filtered out with speed as well.

Many of us slept fitfully Tuesday night — anyone who had a connection with Lauren personally or the pool. Thousands of people have swam at Brookside since it was built in the early 1960s. We've used those ladders. We've parked near where the line fell. In fact, one friend was parked in that area less than an hour before the line landed.

Editing the follow-up story Wednesday that appeared in Thursday's print edition and Lauren's obituary was difficult. I mentioned this to Sharon Myers, the reporter who wrote the initial two stories. She did so with a heavy heart; like me, she has two children, close in age to Lauren. Sports reporter Jason Queen wrote a moving column Thursday on his reaction to the accident; he also has two young children.

I know those present at the pool when the accident occurred are struggling to make sense of it. Emergency personnel often say the death of a child hits them the hardest. They held a debriefing session Wednesday night to talk through their feelings; a similar meeting took place Tuesday night as well for those involved.

Journalists are taught to ask the five W questions: who, what, when, where and why. The first four are normally fairly cut and dried, and sometimes why is as well. But other times no easy answer exists for the reason something happens. That's certainly the case here.

And wondering why this tragedy happened goes way beyond questions asked for a newspaper story. It involves fundamental questions of life and death that philosophers and religious adherents have asked for thousands of years. It can shake a person's faith to the core.

All of us look for a silver lining, some good to come from tragedy. That's hard to see right now.

Chad Killebrew is executive editor of The Dispatch. He can be reached at 249-3981, ext. 215, or at chad.killebrew@the-dispatch.com.

<p>Almost everyone feels a sense of empathy when a tragedy strikes. That's an underlying trait that distinguishes humans from all other living things.</p><p>Yet some tragedies simply strike home more than others, even to those not personally connected to the people involved. That was certainly the case with the death this week of 11-year-old Lauren Cecil. Her death received attention not only locally but around the nation and even in other countries.</p><p>Lauren was finishing swimming practice at Brookside Swim Club on Tuesday night when a power line along Queens Road fell. It caused the ground saturated from rainfall to conduct the electricity to metal pipes, which in turn energized the pool water. Two other swimmers escaped the pool by jumping out along the edges, but Lauren was electrocuted when she touched the metal ladder.</p><p>When one thinks of electricity and water, it usually concerns lightning. Anyone who regularly visits a pool has been forced out of the water when thunder is heard. "Thirty more minutes" comes the shout when another clap resonates. But the accident with Lauren is almost unfathomable.</p><p>No journalist likes writing about the untimely death of someone, yet it's an unfortunate aspect of our profession. But when a child dies, that's even more difficult, especially when it involves such a freak accident as that which took Lauren's life. And at a small-town newspaper, sometimes the connections are more personal.</p><p>While I didn't personally know Lauren or her parents, my family belongs to Brookside pool. I know the other two girls who were in the pool; one is a good friend of my younger son. I know the lifeguards who valiantly attempted to save Lauren. I know those associated with the pool who were quoted in our stories and appeared on television newscasts.</p><p>Lauren attended Davis-Townsend Elementary School, the same as my sons. She swam on the team at Brookside. Although my sons didn't participate this year, due to being away for portions of the summer, they have in the past. They, too, have attended plenty of the evening practices.</p><p>Word spread quickly Tuesday night that an accident had occurred at the pool. Phone calls, texts and social media posts began quickly. And the sad news of Lauren's death filtered out with speed as well.</p><p>Many of us slept fitfully Tuesday night — anyone who had a connection with Lauren personally or the pool. Thousands of people have swam at Brookside since it was built in the early 1960s. We've used those ladders. We've parked near where the line fell. In fact, one friend was parked in that area less than an hour before the line landed.</p><p>Editing the follow-up story Wednesday that appeared in Thursday's print edition and Lauren's obituary was difficult. I mentioned this to Sharon Myers, the reporter who wrote the initial two stories. She did so with a heavy heart; like me, she has two children, close in age to Lauren. Sports reporter Jason Queen wrote a moving column Thursday on his reaction to the accident; he also has two young children.</p><p>I know those present at the pool when the accident occurred are struggling to make sense of it. Emergency personnel often say the death of a child hits them the hardest. They held a debriefing session Wednesday night to talk through their feelings; a similar meeting took place Tuesday night as well for those involved.</p><p>Journalists are taught to ask the five W questions: who, what, when, where and why. The first four are normally fairly cut and dried, and sometimes why is as well. But other times no easy answer exists for the reason something happens. That's certainly the case here.</p><p>And wondering why this tragedy happened goes way beyond questions asked for a newspaper story. It involves fundamental questions of life and death that philosophers and religious adherents have asked for thousands of years. It can shake a person's faith to the core.</p><p>All of us look for a silver lining, some good to come from tragedy. That's hard to see right now.</p><p>Chad Killebrew is executive editor of The Dispatch. He can be reached at 249-3981, ext. 215, or at chad.killebrew@the-dispatch.com.</p>